


Forge

by one_irradiated_muppet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Youtuber AU, explicit content to come... eventually!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_irradiated_muppet/pseuds/one_irradiated_muppet
Summary: Roadhog is a master metalsmith with an online following... who are there for more than just his talent with a hammer, ifyagetwhatImean. Longtime fan Jamie is presented with a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet the elusive youtuber, and though he doesn't dare to hope, it might just prove life-changing as well.





	1. Chapter 1

Jamie taps his fingers against the edge of the countertop impatiently, stopping only when his gaze passes over a crack in the cheap laminate. He slides his fingernail beneath it instead, daring more of the stubborn plastic to peel away. Restless, he bores of picking at it quickly and the rhythmic drumming returns, punctuated every so often by the thump of the microwave turntable as it rotates on uneven casters. The digital clock counts down the last few seconds and the microwave barely has a chance to beep before he throws the door open and grabs the steaming bowl inside.

"Fuck! Bloody,  _ shitting _ ..."

The bowl clatters on the countertop and Jamie flexes his fingers against the sudden tightness in his skin. Rather than running them under the tap, he snatches up a grubby tea-towel to wrap around the bowl instead, ignoring the tomato sauce which has spilt out across the counter. He throws himself into his computer chair, cradling his dinner in his lap and kicking the cabinets to send him spinning out of the small kitchen and across his apartment.

His momentum stops part way and he drags himself the last few feet to the computer desk, single heel digging awkwardly into the carpet. A sweep of his stump through the clutter clears some room on the desk, several soda cans tumbling off to spill their dregs across the floor. Tch,  _ whatever _ \- he'll tidy up later (he won't). Placing the piping hot bowl in the space he's created, he turns his attention to the screen, first checking the window that’s open before alt-tabbing to the flashing discord server.

I only have bologna: so what's the sitch?

Weird, he'd expected to return to more messages than just that; the server’s been active all evening (despite only having 3 participants), but has fallen silent since he'd dashed to get dinner. Jamie narrows his eyes suspiciously, typing out his reply one-handed before reaching for his spoon and - shit, he'd forgotten to get one. The one he'd used in his cereal that afternoon will just have to do, and he wipes it on his shorts before plunging it into the lava-hot contents of the bowl.

1/2 the man i used to be: still on toppppppp

_ I only have bologna is typing... _

Typing this way had been awkward at first, but with little else to spend his time on since the accident he'd quickly gotten used to it. And it’s not like he'd been particular about punctuation and grammar prior to that anyway; alternating between typing and blowing on spoonfuls of his alphabetti spaghetti is child's play by this point. His suspicions peak further when he’s forced to wait for replies, watching his two best friends' names pop up and disappear in turn at the bottom of the screen. If he knows them like he thinks he does, they've moved to their private chat in his absence - and he can guess what topic they've been discussing...

I only have bologna: Look buddy, I know you're excited but I'm really not sure this is the best idea...

1/2 the man i used to be: o here it comes

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: c'mon Jamie you know we're just looking out for you

1/2 the man i used to be: yeah yeah i no gotta save me from myself

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Jaaaammiiiieeeee

I only have bologna: Jamie, bud, this is your life we're talking about. That's all the money you have

Jamie rolls his eyes, sucking in a breath across a mouthful of hot spaghetti shapes and pondering a suitable response when a "ding!" rings from his speakers. Dropping the spoon into the bowl with a gloopy clatter, he fumbles with the oversized trackball he uses as a mouse, in too much of a hurry to locate alt and tab on the keyboard.

_ You are no longer the highest bidder. _

_ Place a new bid? _

Jamie clenches his jaw, lining the mouse up with the entry field before aggressively jabbing the large button which served as his left-click with his stump. He entered his sum, resolutely ignoring the beeping of the server until the page had refreshed to confirm him as the highest bidder again.

I only have bologna: What're you gonna do when it's all over? Your benefits can only stretch so far

I only have bologna: You just gonna waste away in your apartment forever?

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Lucio...

1/2 the man i used to be: sry got outbid

_ I only have bologna is typing... _

1/2 the man i used to be: dnt worry tho back on top

1/2 the man i used to be: thought u were gonna hit it big n move me out 2 ur rockstar mansion ;))))

The notification sound chimes again but Jamie is ready this time, mouse pointer lined up with the entry field when he alt-tabs back to the browser. The bids are anonymous but given the amount of money being laid down, he suspects he’s in a one-on-one battle for the top spot. Scraping his spoon across the ceramic of his bowl, he fishes letters from his spaghetti until a wonky "CUNT" stands out on the side; he’s still cackling over it when discord flashes up again.

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: sorry Jamie, you know he's gotta spend all his ca$h on his girl ;)

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: fucking SUCK it n00b!!!

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: oops sorry guys wrong window

I only have bologna: Hana! You promised you'd stop playing and help!!

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Sorry sorry~ ;)

1/2 the man i used to be: look guys dont get me wrong i appreciate ya, rly

1/2 the man i used to be: but my minds made up

And it is, but that doesn’t stop Jamie alt-tabbing back to the auction site and scrolling to re-read the blurb at the top for the dozenth time.

_ The Prism Foundation Charity Auction 2018 _

_ Get your hammer ready! The winner of this auction will earn his-or-herself a once-in-a-lifetime invitation to the workshop of elusive  _ youtuber _ Roadhog. There they'll participate in the design of a commission of their choosing, tour his workshop and witness the metal master's creative process firsthand. Roadhog has generously donated this prize as a one-time opportunity, so don't miss out! _

Jamie  _ knows _ he’s being reckless, that Lucio's concerns are justified and rooted in good intentions. But he’s been desperate to commission Roadhog for over a  _ year _ , had scrimped and saved and pulled every extra shift he could. Gradually he'd begun to scrape his meager wage into something resembling the ludicrous amount that was needed...

Then the accident had happened. Jamie had lost his job and his savings had whittled down to nothing in no time. If it hadn't been for Medicare he'd likely have ended up in the hole for good - but even so, the benefits he received had only just covered his rent and cost of living. He'd worked in a practical field there was little chance of him returning to sans-limbs, and though he’d known there had to be work for him somewhere, he’d no energy to pursue it. Even now, leaving his apartment is too much for him most days, the curious stares of others boring into the spaces his arm and leg had left behind.

Jamie shoots a disgruntled glance at his prosthetic limbs, which lay in a heap beside the sofa. He rarely wears them in the house, preferring to hop around and work one-handed than subject himself to their dead weight, the pinch of them against his skin. While parts of them are sort of cool, the strange mock-flesh coverings of the foot and hand make him feel queasy whenever he looks at them. He’s still required to practice using them of course, though he doesn't nearly as often as his prosthetist recommends. At least the fact that he can carry so little with him ensures he makes frequent, late-night visits to the local 24-hour Woolies, when the aisles are empty and the staff pay him little notice.

He brings his gaze back to the monitor and the envelope which rests propped against it. Held within it is a cheque bearing more consecutive zeros than Jamie has seen before in his entire life; a hefty payout, courtesy of the insurance company who covered the asshole who'd crushed him between his car and a wall. He still can’t believe it, can barely remember the lawyers he'd spoken with during his hazy weeks confined to a hospital bed. At first, it hadn't even occurred to him that the money could be used for anything other than just  _ living _ \- then mere days after the cheque's arrival, Roadhog's twitter had announced his participation in the charity auction...

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Babe you know we won't change his mind

i only have bologna: It's not a case of trying to change his mind, it's trying to help him!

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Jamie after all you've been through, you deserve this. GO FOR IT!!!! DON'T LET THOSE SONS OF BITCHES OUTBID YOU!!!!

1/2 the man i used to be: thx sweets. 5 mins left wish me luck

Despite spending months saving up, Jamie had never actually settled on what to commission. He’d believed without a doubt that Roadhog would craft any idea he presented into a masterpiece, but not only had he feared half-assing his one opportunity to commission him, he’d also... well if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’d wanted to impress the guy. He couldn’t stand the thought of his idea being forgotten, blurring in with all the others that came Roadhog's way; he wanted Roadhog to  _ remember _ him for it. He wanted it to resonate between them, for it to cast such a bright light on their shared passions that it couldn’t be ignored. He’d been aware of how cringe-worthy his level of obsession had become - brutally so in fact, during the dark time which had stretched on since his weeks in the hospital - but fuck if he could deny it, then or now. He’s a fucking fanboy. But Hana is right - he deserves this chance.

Especially since he's finally decided on what he’s going to request.

Now that the minutes are ticking down, Jamie isn’t surprised to hear the chime of a bid overtaking his. But the amount by which he's been outbid comes as a shock - fucking hell, someone else is desperate for this. He twists his lower lip between his teeth, feeling a pang of guilt - not that he’s out to claim a prize someone else so badly wants (fuck that) but at how much he’s going to have to shell out. Bloody Lucio, nagging him all evening, tainting his excitement!

But there’s no way Jamie’s backing down now; the only option left to him is a last-minute, massive bid to blind-side and scare off the competition. He refreshes the page and, satisfied that the on-site clock is synched with his PC's, enters an amount far greater than he'd initially planned. He chews the inside of his lip, foot bouncing on the edge of his seat, and desperately wills his internet connection to see him through, finger poised above the enter key as the seconds count down...

I only have bologna: Well?

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Jamie? Don't leave us hanging here!

1/2 the man i used to be: guess its time ta book mself a plane ticket :)

 

Jamie can’t believe he’s going to be  _ fucking late _ . He’s no stranger to tardiness, but for once he isn’t to blame for it, today’s situation completely out of his hands. The taxi which had picked him up from his hotel had been booked well in advance, but neither he nor its driver could have predicted the sheer amount of snowfall which had occurred overnight. The Southern Island experiences snow this time of year, sure, but this  _ much _ ? It’s like the weather itself is out to get him, set on ruining this most expensive, most  _ anticipated _ of days.

And Roadhog's workshop is, of course, in the arse-end of nowhere where the roads cut through swathes of woodland, winding up and down as much as back and forth. The taxi had taken him as far as it could, but with the backroads unploughed, even Jamie had acknowledged it could go no further. The thick snow would have posed a challenge to anyone striking out on foot, let alone someone still growing accustomed to their prosthetic limbs. The remainder of the journey seemed almost impossibly daunting.

_ Almost _ .

Thank fuck he'd downloaded the local map to his mobile - of  _ course _ there wasn't signal out here - or he'd never have stood a chance at finding his way. By the time Jamie trudges up Roadhog's driveway, he can’t feel his fingers for holding his phone and his backpack and coat are crusted, not only with fresh snowfall but also the evidence of his many trips and falls. His final challenge comes in the form of icy stone steps leading up to the front porch, and he grits his teeth, taking them with as much care as his frozen, aching and artificial limbs can muster.

Jamie’s fingers feel like they’d shatter for knocking, so he resorts to butting the end of his phone against the heavy wooden door instead. The sound rings out, all there is to be heard in the snow-filled silence save for his ragged breathing. He waits and tries again, and by the time it becomes clear that no answer was coming, feels the heat of tears pricking at his cold-bitten eyes. He’s chilled to the bone, exhausted physically and mentally drained. But there isn’t a snowflake's chance in hell he’s giving up now - not that heading back the way he'd come is an option anyway.

Taking the steps painstakingly slowly once again, he wades through the deep snow which is built up at the side of the house, having to drag his prosthetic leg with every step. By this point he doesn’t think he'd feel it if his left boot came off, let alone his right. Through some miracle both stay on, and he makes it around the back of the house only to find more _ fucking  _ steps, this time winding up to a stone patio which spans the breadth of the house. The entire back wall is glass, and Jamie would be impressed at the sight - if he could feel anything except for sheer exhaustion.

He considers digging around in the snow for a rock to lob - screw good first impressions, he needs to get warm - when a sudden noise cracks the still air like a gunshot.

That - he knows that sound. Has heard it a thousand times before, though his PC speakers had never lent it such clarity. Turning away from the house he peers past the trees further down the garden, their branches laden with white, and  _ yes _ . Tucked behind them is another building, a plume of pale smoke rising from it against the falling snow. Jamie's tired legs carry him closer to the beat of the hammer, then all at once he’s frozen in place, and this time not by the cold.

He watches his own breath cloud the air before him, feels the fresh chill as he licks his chapped lips and the thud of his own heart deep beneath the folds of his coat. This is it. This is finally.  _ It _ .

The workshop looks like it had first been a stable which had then sprouted a barn, and now it’s larger than the main house, no doubt growing over time to accommodate Roadhog's many projects. It’s the stable side which Jamie comes upon, its doors flung wide and warm light pouring onto the snow outside. It looks magical, like a Christmas diorama of times long past. But the most wonderful thing of all is the sound which still emanates from within, the rhythmic clang of metal upon metal drawing him in. Sucking a bitter, steadying breath deep into his lungs, Jamie takes the last few steps up to the doorway and the heat hits him like a wall.

Jamie immediately recognises the interior of the workshop from Roadhog's videos. There is the gaping maw of the forge, glowing red-hot beneath its broad, black chimney. There are the racks of hanging tools at its side, each more specialised and intimidating than the last. Jamie had always loved the anvil Roadhog used, bound with chains to a great tree stump like he'd wrested it from the clutches of some ancient forest god, hooks driven deep into the wood to hold hammers of varying shape and size.

And then... and then there’s the man himself. If watching countless hours of his videos had familiarised Jamie with the workshop, it had done  _ nothing _ to prepare him for this. The stable is by no means cramped but Roadhog fills it nonetheless, the broadness of his shoulders only comparable to his sheer height. Jamie's posture has suffered following his accident but even so very few people tower over him. Yet tower Roadhog does, vast in a way no video feed could ever convey. Jamie is somewhat disappointed that he’s wearing a sweater beneath his apron but even through knit, the flex and bulge of his muscles are clear as he brings his hammer down on the anvil, and the enviable strip of metal between.

What Roadhog is not wearing, however, is his trademark mask.

Jamie shivers in a fashion that’s in no way related to the cold, and he must make a sound to accompany it because the arc of Roadhog's hammer halts mid-swing and that maskless face turns to face him and--

"Ah. You made it."

Never in all his years on camera has Roadhog uttered a single word. Yet now he speaks four all at once, and all for Jamie, who usually talks a mile a minute but now finds he can't muster a single one in return. Roadhog's voice is like the rumble of distant thunder before a storm, and Jamie feels like a lone tree, sure to be struck down in its wake yet still so thirsty for the rain.

Roadhog plunges the metal he'd been working into the vat of water at his side, and the steam which billows up is the same pale shade as his long hair, barely contained in a messy topknot. He places his hammer down and steps around the anvil, pulling off his apron and using it to wipe each of his hands in turn before holding one out in welcome.

In accordance with the rest of him, Roadhog's face is broad, made even more so by the grey sideburns which trace the strong lines of his jaw and end just short of giving him a full beard. His nose is wide and round with furrow-lines at the bridge, set between full cheeks, and prominent crows feet frame his eyes. Jamie has never been able to guess his age, but realises now that there must be considerable years between them. Roadhog's skin tone, too, has always been difficult to place thanks to the glowing ambience provided by the forge; Jamie had spent a night googling the tattoo which wrapped around his left forearm and had developed a theory from what he'd learnt. With the pale light of day illuminating his features, his suspicions are backed up - Roadhog isn’t just a Kiwi, but must be Maori to boot.

Jamie realises he’s not only gawking but has left Roadhog stood waiting, his hand still extended patiently. Jamie twitches as he instinctively moves to meet it with his right, but stops short before his prosthetic leaves his coat pocket. Drawing in a deep, staggered breath, he offers his left instead, and is relieved when Roadhog switches hands to meet it. When his massive fingers close around Jamie's frozen own the heat from them is incredible, like he'd plunged his hand into a steaming bath. He shivers again and hopes the cold justifies it.

"I - I'm Jamie. Jamison. Jamison Fawkes," he stammers out, trying to give a firm handshake when the mere touch of Roadhog's skin on his leaves him weak.

"Mako. Good to meet you."

Roadhog releases his hand and steps back, the chill of the air immediately contrasting with the warmth he'd provided. No, not Roadhog - Mako.  _ Mako _ . Jamie had hoped to learn his name of course, but hadn't taken anything as a given in the run-up to today - not when he was already at such risk of disappointment. Not that he expected Road- Mako to disappoint, but...

Ah, gawking. Right. A thing he’s doing a lot of. A brisk wind blows at his back, encouraging him to step into the warmth of the workshop, the space Mako has backed up to give him. His gaze darts around from this spot to that, not only because he’s hungry to take in every bit of it but to avoid meeting Mako's eyes too, suddenly afraid of what he might find there.

Then he remembers himself and swivels to face him, words suddenly spilling out of him all at once.

"Geez mate, I'm so fuckin' late! Did everythin' I could, but the taxi couldn't get through all this white shit! Had to walk a mile to get here, nearly froze me arse off."

Mako huffs out a laugh at the torrent of words and gives a small shake of his head. "Can't be helped. I tried to call you to reschedule, but you're here now."

Jamie's mouth drops open, and he plunges his hand into his coat pocket to fish out his phone. Yep, there they are - a string of missed calls from the number he'd logged under "Roadhog" followed by several emojis - a piggy snout, revolving hearts and eggplant among them. He returns his phone to his pocket hurriedly, hopeful Mako hasn't the chance to see them.

"Sorry, didn't get a lick of signal 'til now..."

"You want to head into the house to warm up, Jamie?"

Jamie bristles pleasantly at hearing his name in Mako's deep cadence, before vehemently shaking his head and gesturing around them with his good arm.

"What?! No way! You can't expect me to leave all this as soon as I'm finally here!"

He’s well aware of how grating his rambling can be, but Mako seems to find his enthusiasm amusing rather than annoying, thank fuck. Or he’s just being polite, in which case... Well, Jamie will have to tone it down a bit, just in case. Of course in truth, there’s no chance of this as Mako leads him further into the workshop and the scope of it begins to dawn on him.

"Holy-D, what a setup!"

The workshop's exterior doesn’t resemble a stable without good reason. The front room must have been grafted on to suit Mako's requirements, sensibly hewn from stone to house the forge. But a short walk through it leads to a long, open corridor, bordered on either side by wooden stalls. Some still have their heavy doors attached, others are laid completely open. It’s all sublimely atmospheric, feels to Jamie like another world, as though the workshop he's peeked at weekly for the last two years had been a secret portal just out of his reach all along.

But if the layout of the place is out of this world, its contents are from another universe.

Some of the stalls they pass contain only supplies, metals neatly organised by type and size, and heaps of the scrap and salvage that Mako recycles in his work. But others house projects, either in progress or already completed, and Jamie chomps at the bit to finally see Mako's work in person. Unable to control himself, he turns sharply into one of the stalls, only his cry of excitement alerting Mako that he’s no longer following him.

"Look at these beauts!"

The entire back wall is covered in masks, and Jamie recognises many of them but, wonderfully, there are still plenty that are new to him. As his moniker and the mask he favours to wear suggested, Mako is fond of hogs and pigs, and they’re the subject of some of his most notable works. There are many other animals represented too, though tusks appear to have worked their way into the design regardless of species. Some of the masks are small enough that they could, feasibly, be worn but many are clearly display-pieces only, huge and made of thick, heavy, layered metals. As with Jamie’s favourites of Mako's work, many look straight out of a post-apocalyptic horror, having been fashioned predominantly from scrap and junk.

"This one's one'a my favourites." Jamie points to a mask he'd seen on Mako's online gallery the first time he'd browsed it. It has a long, pointed snout like a dog or rat, and Mako had cut thin strips out of it to bend and twist into gnarled whiskers. Its eyes are narrow and slanted to give it a wicked countenance, further emphasised by the bullhorns which sprout from behind its ears and curl around toward the tip of its nose.

"Mine too. They all are, or I'd have sold them."

Jamie glances over his shoulder to find Mako leant against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’d look bored was it not for the subtle quirk at the corner of his full lips, and the creasing of his crows-feet. Jamie feels a flush rising to his cheeks despite the chill within the stable, and looks into the eyes of the bull-rat mask once again. He’s honoured that Mako is letting him study the masks so closely without looming over him, but can’t shake the sudden feeling that  _ he’s  _ being studied too.

Jamie tears his gaze away from the mask's and looks over those he isn’t familiar with. In a row at the very top of the wall are a few which don't represent animals at all, but instead twisted human faces with open, snarling mouths, their long tongues flopping out.

"What about these? I've never seen 'em before - you don't put 'em online?"

"No. They're... personal."

Mako comes to stand beside Jamie, arms still crossed as he joins him in gazing up at the row of monstrous faces. They all wear similar frightful expressions, but have each been fashioned in a different way; one has layers of swirling solder on its cheeks and brow, another's tongue is a spill of nuts and bolts welded together.

"They represent my ancestors. If I were in my home village, they'd hang in the meeting house. At least, I'd like to think so. They're not exactly in keeping with tradition."

Jamie glances sideways as Mako laughs, the sound rumbling up from deep within his round belly and causing Jamie’s to flip pleasantly. It’s something quite else which suddenly steals and holds his attention, however; as Mako's lips part, Jamie realises why so many of the masks wear tusks.

"Mate... you've..." Wide-eyed, he can only point at his own mouth as it opens and closes wordlessly.

Mako watches him for a puzzled moment before giving another even louder laugh, mouth opening enough that his tusks slip out from the cover of his lip altogether. No wonder his lips had appeared so full, and that there’s a common theme in so many of his works. Jamie is at a loss as Mako grins down at him, the tusks staying out and on show.

"Sorry. Implants. Had them so long I forget they're there."

"Mako, mate. That's fuckin' extra." Jamie returns the grin, having only moderately long, un-augmented canines to bare. Then he realises what he’s said, and sputters.

"And ace, I mean! Fuckin' ace."

Mako snorts good-humouredly, apparently unphased by Jamie's cheek or faltering. He reaches up to unhook the rat mask from the wall and offers it to him.

"Here. Don't worry, they're tough. Go ahead."

Jamie's brow creases. He wants to hold the mask so badly, but tough as Mako claims it is, Jamie doesn’t think he'd appreciate it being dropped... and he can’t trust his prosthetic right now, not when he’s still so gripped by the cold and giddy over their increasingly friendly exchange. He stares the mask down, chewing on his thumbnail for a moment before flicking his gaze up to Mako's for one last sign of approval, and finally reaching out to touch its whiskers. They’re icy to the touch, sharp but not enough to cut him - as long as he’s careful. He slides his fingertips up the gaps in its snout and over one of its slitted eyes, before tracing the curve of its horns.

"'S a bloody wonder. They all are," Jamie says, the reverence in his voice audible even to his own ears. He retracts his fingers and shivers, as Mako carefully returns the mask to its hook on the wall.

"Thank you. They're not going anywhere, though." Mako gestures out of the stall with a sweep of his hand. "Let's go get warmed up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta Ceia (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/works)! And also to sexplius for some much-appreciated feedback/support (http://archiveofourown.org/users/sexpilus/works)!


	2. Chapter 2

The walk back to the house was much easier with Mako leading the way, his huge boots carving trenches in the deep snow for Jamie to follow. The flurries had finally stopped, the heavy clouds which had hung above giving way to a bright azure sky; Jamie paused to admire the scene for a moment, the white tips of the treetops contrasting against the vast blue. He inhaled the crisp country air, so different from that of the city, and watched his breath fog before him. Then the sound of a door sliding open reminded him that he was keeping Mako waiting, and he began his careful ascent of the patio stairs.

The house was pleasantly warm in comparison to the air outside, but apparently not enough so for Mako, who stomped the snow off his boots before heading over to a large fireplace. He knelt down, and Jamie could hear the sound of logs being arranged, then the scratch and hiss of a match in the otherwise quiet room.

"Put your stuff down anywhere. Toilet's through there if you need it."

Grateful for something to do other than stand and stare, Jamie headed in the direction Mako had gestured. It occurred to him all too late that he should have taken off his sopping boots first - but then, simple courtesies like that were more complicated nowadays, and had never come to him naturally in the first place.

Jamie didn't realise how badly he'd needed to piss until he was stood in the small restroom, and he sighed not only at the release but to be alone for the first moment since arriving at the workshop. Suddenly he was grinning widely, the realisation dawning on him that this was Mako - no - _Roadhog's_ porcelain throne he was pissing into, Roadhog's beautiful house he was standing in. He barked out a laugh before quickly clamming up, worried Mako might hear him and conclude he was off his rocker; he seemed not to have realised yet, which was a wonder in of itself.

Zipping up, Jamie turned to reach for the lock before pausing, his brows knitting together in contemplation. If he were in his own apartment, he wouldn't think twice but... could he _really_ bring himself to waltz back into Mako's home without washing his hands?

He was supposed to remove his prosthetic before washing up, but that whole process was such a pain that he figured a little fragranced soap wouldn't do much harm. He drew his right hand from his coat pocket for the first time since he'd gotten there, regarding it disdainfully but without any real passion to back it up; he was more weary of its presence than anything else. The limb was meant to respond to his thoughts, or muscles tensing or something along those lines of scientific bull. But the process of learning to use it had been so frustrating, with its sluggish and clumsy responses, that he'd long given up practising with it as he should; he barely ever even switched it on when he wore it. He'd gotten used to his leg - which was run off a microprocessor and so didn’t rely on such signals - much more easily.

Twiddling the knobs on the basin one after the other, Jamie set about the thankless task of washing his hands without proper mobility. His gaze flicked up to meet itself in the mirror before he quickly averted it again. _Fucking hell_ , what was he doing? He made light of his injuries with his friends, but couldn't stand frank discussion about them; even his routine checkups with his prosthetist left him with a week-long headache. He'd done everything he could to avoid making a thing of his prostheses, and here he was, about to make the biggest show of them possible - and to the person he admired above all others, no less. His giddy excitement from mere moments before drained out of him as fast as the water down the plughole.

Jamie placed his hands on either side of the sink and bowed his head, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. He was here. He could do this. He _was_ doing this. He splashed warm water over his cheeks and straightened up, meeting his own amber gaze in the mirror resolutely this time and giving himself the sternest look he could muster.

"There's no goin' back from here. Fuckin' get it together, ya prick."

After drying his hands and face he gave his reflection a cursory look over, running his fingertips over his wild brows and tugging his beanie off. Oh for the love of... he looked even trampier than ever now. He ruffled his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair, attempting hopelessly to tame it, before giving up and pulling open the restroom door.

By the time Jamie arrived back in the lounge he'd shed his scarf and coat as well, the garments slung over his prosthetic arm. In truth it wasn't just a lounge, but a kitchen and dining area too; the entire back of the house was open plan, the wide stretch of oak flooring decorated minimalistically and all bordered by that impressive expanse of glass. It was so utterly different from his own crappy, cluttered one-bedroom apartment, with its stained carpets and tiny windows that it made his head spin. He hadn't dared to hope that he'd see Roadhog's house, the invitation being to tour his workshop, but if he had, he doubted this is what he'd have expected. How could he? It was all so... _nice_.

Mako was in the kitchen, setting out plates and tall mugs on the central island. Jamie laid his coat and backpack on one of the stools there and hopped up to sit on another, resting his arms on the stone countertop.

"Mate, this place is right swanky! Never pegged ya as the domestic type."

Mako snorted and looked across at him, gaze seeming to linger on his newly revealed shock of hair. Jamie felt warmth rise on his cheeks and stir in his belly - before immediately plunging to a chill as Mako's eyes flicked down to his arm. To give credit where it was due, his gaze didn't remain on it for long, meeting Jamie's again without so much as a flicker of surprise on his features.

"You want a cheese toastie?"

Jamie perked up at that, straightening in his chair and giving an eager nod. The kitchen was so posh - fit to host a cooking show in fact - that he’d been worried Mako would whip up a gourmet meal for them; he didn't think he could process another facet of that calibre from him right now. It was a relief that he wanted to cook something simple, humble... and a grilled cheese was just the kind of warm, savoury indulgence Jamie needed after his morning in the snow.

The toastie machine sizzled away as Mako poured them each a mug of steaming coffee. He took his black, and raised an eyebrow when Jamie told him how he liked it ("milky, as much sugar as you’ve got"), but Jamie felt pleasantly teased rather than chastised. He lifted the mug to his face when it was pushed towards him, relishing the warmth which seeped into his fingers and inhaling the sweet, robust scent.

"So what's the plan? Hope my bein' late won't set us back too much," Jamie asked once he'd downed half the contents of his mug. His fingers began to drum lightly against the side of it, left leg jittering up and down; the sudden surge of restless energy was in part due to the rush of sugar and caffeine, but also the nerves that were setting in. He really was yo-yoing up and down the scale of emotions today, but perhaps having food in his belly would help to settle him. Or perhaps not. After all, he _was_ sat in Roadhog's kitchen - of all places - waiting on a cheese toastie - of all things - and trying not to get caught eyeballing his host's... _abundance_ of virtues.

"We should be alright. After lunch, we'll discuss your commission," Mako answered between sips of his coffee. Watching him, Jamie realised that the mugs were tall and narrow not simply out of an aesthetic choice - but because if they had been any broader Mako's tusks would have caused him no end of difficulty. He let out a giggle before he could catch himself, and Mako raised both of his eyebrows this time, pale gaze fixed on his.

"Sorry, sorry... I never thought about the functionality of uh..." Jamie trailed off, resorting to pointing at his own teeth again. Why couldn't he just say what they were? Tusks. Big ol' biters. _Sexy_.

No. Nooope. He was definitely not calling them that - at least not to Mako’s face.

Mako shook his head wearily, but there was a hint of a smile behind his tusks as he turned to pop the sandwich machine open. Jamie swallowed as the smell of cheese and toasted bread wafted his way, the rumbling of his stomach driving home the extent to which his body’s needs had taken a backseat all day. Mako pried a sandwich out with a spatula and it skittered across the plate Jamie held out to receive it.

"Thanks mate!" He enthused, immediately lifting the toastie up and taking a large bite - only to drop it with a squawk of pain a second later, lips scorched by the bubbling cheese. His hand flew up to cover his mouth and he drew short breaths across the burn, amber eyes wide with shock.

Mako just stared at him. Then, starting with the creasing of his crow’s feet, his face wrinkled to emit a hearty laugh, the hand still holding the spatula pressed to his belly as it shook.

"You're fucking trouble, aren't you? How old are you again?"

Jamie's brows knitted in embarrassment, and he mumbled shyly into his palm.

"Twenty-six."

He was _almost_ telling the truth. Mako didn't need to know that his birthday wasn't for a couple more weeks.

"Hmm," the older man rumbled, still smirking as he finally retrieved his own toastie. Jamie wasn't sure what that meant but lowered his hand to reveal an abashed smile when Mako offered him a glass of cold water from the tap.

"Thanks, mate- Mako."

Jamie sipped the water, relaxing as it took the edge off his pain and trying not to look too giddy at using Mako’s name for what was, he realised, only the second time. His gaze roamed across the kitchen as he struggled to think up something redeeming to say, then little flashing lights alerted him to the presence of a router and he reached to tug his phone from his coat pocket instead.

"Hey, could I have your wifi password?"

"Don’t have one."

Jamie couldn't help but shoot Mako a look of dismay, and he smiled, inclining his head and taking a sip of his coffee.

"No one to leech it this far in the ‘wops."

Jamie grinned at the native slang, but his amusement was short-lived; no sooner had he connected to the wifi than his phone practically screamed out its pent-up notifications, the chimes and accompanying vibrations coming so rapidly that he almost dropped his phone. Even Mako looked caught off guard, shocked into pausing with his toastie half-way to his mouth.

"Sorry! Guess I'm popular this mornin'!" Jamie hammered the phone's volume button, mortified to have made such a prime tit of himself twice in quick succession. He avoided meeting Mako's gaze in favour of opening discord, propping his phone up in his prosthetic - basically the one thing it was good for - and stuffing his mouth full of toastie to keep from saying anything to further embarrass himself.

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Jaaaamiiieeee how's it going?  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: are you there yet? Is he HOT??  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: Jamie? Jamison??  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: oh no he hasn't murdered you already has he? ;)  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: I hope you're just so deep in the throes of passion you forgot to check your phone  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: if not youre RUDE Jamie don't keep a sister waiting  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: .....if you're locked in his basement as a sex-slave, I get your steam collection

Jamie choked on his mouthful of grilled cheese, coughing and wheezing on crumbs as he struggled to locate his glass of water. Fuckin'... bad luck came in threes, or whatever people said, 'cause there he went making a prat of himself again in _record_ time. He let out a nervous titter once he'd washed down his food, glancing at Mako timidly and placing his phone face down; Hana would just have to wait for her dose of gossip - punishment for causing him so much trouble.

"My friends... are idiots," he supplied by way of apology, trying his best to grin and make light of his discomposure. Mako opened his mouth to reply - only for Jamie's phone to buzz against the stone countertop.

◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: don't think I can't see you online!!  
1/2 the man i used to be: KINDA BUSY HERE THX SWEETS ILL MESSAGE U LATER FECK OFF MWAH  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: RUDE!!!!!

This time Jamie really set his phone to silent, sighing and rubbing his brow once he'd placed it down again. He ran his fingers through his hair, hand dallying on the nape of his neck as he offered up a sheepish grin. Luckily, Mako _wasn't_ glaring at him like Jamie was some teenage fuck-up who'd up and invaded his peaceful, adult life. If Jamie's cheeks hadn't already been flushed from choking, they would have started then, in the face of Mako's subtle, teasing smirk.

"Sorry," Jamie shrugged his shoulders as if this were all normal for him. "One of my mates can be a right nosy bitch."

"I'm sure they're just checking up on you. You _did_ hop the Tasman to meet a strange man off the ‘net."

Startled by Mako's insinuation, Jamie let out a high giggle and rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Oh yeah, that's definitely it. Probably thinks I'm locked up somewhere by now... or that I've pissed ya off enough that you've done away with me already."

They both laughed at that, in equal measure but completely opposing pitch, as different as two laughs could be. The sound filled up the large, empty space of the open-plan room, and Jamie immediately felt relieved of his nervousness. He polished off the last of his cheese toastie while Mako did the same, then leaned back to pat his belly appreciatively.

"That was bonzer, mate. Just what I needed! Though I have'ta say, I was half expectin' ya to go out an’ hunt for our lunch, given your rough 'n wild schtick!"

Mako placed the empty plates in the sink before collecting their mugs for a top-up, chuckling as he did.

"Actually, I'm vegetarian."

"What?! Ya never!" Jamie's brows furrowed sceptically and he eyed Mako up, relishing not having to hide the action for once.

"I don't believe it... how'd ya get so big an' handsome on just veggies?"

Jamie didn't even have a chance to regret his boldness, as Mako immediately snorted in amusement. Jamie could have sworn his cheeks even took on a touch of colour...

"Genetics. And lots of grilled cheese."

Jamie chuckled, and hid his giddiness over Mako's reaction by taking a long sip of his coffee. Mako stepped around the island, mug in hand as he motioned towards the lounge.

"C'mon. Let's take a load off and talk about your commission."

It was then that Jamie realised that Mako had stood the entire time they'd eaten and that, in fact, the stools at the breakfast bar looked less than accommodating for a man of his stature. He felt a pang of apprehension that he hadn't noticed earlier, but quickly shook it off - this was Mako's home, not his, so he could hardly take responsibility. Besides, the fact that it was finally time to discuss his commission imbued him with an entirely different emotion - excitement, unmuddied by the nerves he’d been swamped with up until then.

He followed Mako over to the sofa, where the glow of the fire contrasted the cool light flooding in through the windows. And oh, was it _deliciously_ warm. When they sat down together on the leather sofa, Jamie couldn't help but sink into the cushions just as the pleasant heat sunk into him, cradling his mug against his chest and smiling widely. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made himself comfy in someone else's home - shouldn't have been able to so easily, considering all the embarrassment he'd suffered only minutes before. And whose home it was. _And_ what they were there to discuss. But the place was so damn cosy, and Mako - quite at odds with his fierce and unapproachable online persona - had been nothing but welcoming and accepting of Jamie’s idiosyncrasies. The fact that Jamie had nigh on idolised him for so long only made it all the harder to believe - and more wonderful.

Mako took up so much space that when Jamie turned to face him, his good leg bent beneath him, their knees almost brushed together. Between that and the way Mako's arm rested along the sofa back toward him, the fingers of his broad hand spread to envelop the top of the thick cushions, Jamie nearly forgot the reason they'd sat down.

It wasn't like he'd waited a long time for this moment or anything.

"So, what do you have in mind?"

Jamie licked his lower lip and took a steadying breath, considering the best way to explain his request. But the anxiety he’d felt in the run up to this moment, which had threatened to cloud his thoughts and set him up for disaster… seemed to have all but melted away. Cradled in the plush cushions of the sofa, knee-to-knee with Mako - everything felt _right_ with the world. As though the windows of this little slice of heaven Mako had carved out for himself separated them from more than just the cold. Jamie felt a broad smile spread across his face and rested his mug against his thigh.

“Oh, it’s a wild one mate! An’ I think you’re gonna love it. No doubt you noticed this arm of mine earlier?”

Mako’s brows knitted together gently, the corner of his lips tugging up behind his tusks as he inclined his head in agreement.

“I did, yes.”

"Well… that’s not the half of it! I’m more metal than man, me - which should be just your thing, eh?" Jamie tapped the base of his mug against his thigh, the resulting clunk effectively illustrating his point - and sloshing sweet coffee over his jeans. He tittered excitably at his own clumsiness and gall, twisting to rest his mug on the end table behind him so that he could smear the wet patch around a bit before leaning down to hike up the leg of his jeans.

“Check it out - cuttin’ edge stuff, this is.”

Jamie watched Mako’s gaze follow the hem of his jeans as they rose to reveal the extent of his prosthesis, from the pylon which sprouted out the top of his boot like a plant from a pot, all the way up to the computerised knee. Mako’s expression was impossible to read, but Jamie didn’t let that dampen his spirits - he’d come to expect as much from the stoic man.

“Pretty darn nifty, innit?” Jamie had never before spoken of his prosthetics with such high regard. He finished pulling up his jeans, rolling the material around the fiberglass socket on his thigh and straightening up to grin at Mako.

“So here’s the deal. It’s an awesome leg an’ all - couldn’t be without it ya could say, heh - but it's really not my style. Too sleek and futuristic an’ all that. So I was hopin’... you’d be up for puttin’ a spin on it. Makin’ it somethin’ I’m proud to wear. Whaddaya think?”

Mako was still looking the limb over with that same unreadable gaze, but when Jamie asked him his thoughts on the proposition, finally drug it up to meet his. For a moment his thick brows knitted above his eyes, then his expression smoothed back out and his large frame shifted with a deep breath, one hand coming up to rub the scruff on his jaw.

“I’m… not sure, Jamie.”

Jamie’s grin held fast for a long moment, Mako’s words taking their time to sink in. Then he felt it twitch and falter, the strength going out of it and the trembling of his lips carrying into the words which spilled out of them.

“Oh! Okay, well… is it the tech which worries ya? ‘Cause I brought this along -” he fished in the pocket of his jeans, retrieving a USB stick and holding it out “- an’ it’s got all the specs and info you could ask for! More’n enough to inform ya for a little cosmetic tinkerin’!”

Mako’s focus had wandered to the fire crackling in the hearth, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands tucked together beneath his chin. Jamie desperately wanted to be the subject of his attention again - yet the tension which was creeping up between his shoulder blades, and the tightening of his throat, suggested it was better that he wasn’t. Waiting for a response felt like torture, but just as he opened his mouth to further plead his case, Mako spoke.

“It’s not that simple. You’re asking me to tamper with high-tech gear that you depend upon. And to build something you’d carry with you everyday. That’s not what I do - I’m not a tattoo artist.”

Mako turned, finally bringing his gaze to Jamie’s again, one broad hand held palm-up between them as he appealed for Jamie’s understanding.

“I’m just not interested in the responsibility, Jamie. I’m sorry. We’ll have to come up with another idea together.”

Jamie’s jaw was tightly clenched, the tension which had spread through his shoulders and up to the base of his skull evolving into something closer to nausea. He was still managing a smile, though! Tght-lipped and unconvincing though it was.

“Okay!” He gritted out, forcing himself to swallow down the shrill tone of the word and looking away to afford himself a moment to compose himself. Hearing Mako’s calm, rational words of apology was one thing, but seeing the hint of pity which had flickered in his eyes a moment later - no doubt as he’d realised just how invested Jamie had been in his idea… Jamie couldn’t bear it. His fingers dug into the rolled denim on his thigh, reminding him that his leg was still exposed, and as he leant down to cover it up back up it felt like all the world was crashing down around him.

“You need me to uh, come back tomorrow then?” He asked the air above his knee.

“Doesn’t look like the snow’s letting up. You’re welcome to stay in the guest room until it does.”

Mako’s tone was measured and kind, and it was enough to bring a painful prickling to Jamie’s eyes - until he bit the inside of his lip hard enough to drive it back. He’d come so far in so many ways, across the sea and through the snow, through injury and the darkest of times, to sit beside the man he’d obsessed over for years and be told “no”. And now he was being offered the chance to stay with him, to collaborate with him - and all he could feel was cold, bitter resentment. Straightening up, Jamie could give only a wordless nod in response to the offer. The sofa cushions shifted as Mako heaved himself to stand and let out a tired breath.

“Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who commented on chapter 1 - I was honestly blown away by your kind words. They meant the world to me so thank you, thank you, thank you!!
> 
> And HUGE thanks to my beta for this chapter, Silly! Your input and support were of so much value! (Her multitude of works can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles)
> 
> Catch you in the next one folks!


	3. Chapter 3

Jamie awoke face-down in an unfamiliar bed. His head ached before he even attempted to move, and when he did, his lips stuck to the pillow where he’d drooled in his sleep. He rolled onto his back with a groan, nose wrinkling in disgust at how gunked up his tongue had gotten; he scraped it against his teeth, but that only made the situation worse. Jamie hadn’t woken up feeling this rough since he’d made the mistake of drinking on top of his pain meds - but he didn’t remember indulging the night before, and even his worst binge-sessions had a lead-up he’d remember. He squinted up at the light peeking in through the top of the curtains, and sat up to examine the room he found himself in.

It was spacious, tidy, and sophisticatedly furnished - so definitely not one of his mates’ places. Jamie’s face scrunched up as he realised where he was, and a moment later he was face-down in the pillows again, groaning as memories flooded back to him; his trek through the snow, finally meeting Mako, and… the refusal of his commission. Jamie opened his eyes to stare despondently at the guest-room wall, but despite the fresh ache of disappointment in his gut, no tears pricked at their corners. He didn’t even remember crying before he’d slept, despite how terribly Mako’s refusal had wounded him. He’d simply crashed out on top of the bedsheets, apparently without even bothering to strip off his prosthetics or clothes. It suddenly dawned on Jamie that he had no idea how long he’d slept for, and he leapt up as panic gripped him, patting his pockets in a frenzy to locate his phone.

The screen lit up long enough to display the time - 11am! - and a row of discord notifications before the phone gave a sad “bleep bleep” and expired. Jamie flopped onto the edge of the bed and tossed the dead phone before dragging his hand up his face and through his hair. _Fuck_. He’d slept half the goddamn weekend away and Mako was probably regretting ever letting him into his home in the first place. After the mess he’d shown himself to be, Jamie wouldn’t blame him if he turned up to kick him out right that very moment; he glanced at the guest-room door expectantly...

His brief, depressive fantasy was only that, of course, so Jamie stood up to seek out his backpack, which he appeared to have dumped at the foot of the bed. He rummaged around for his charger and hooked his phone up before limping over to the window. The sunlight, which bounced brightly off the snow outside, sent pain lancing through his head, but he’d learned what he needed to - the layer of white lay as thickly as it had the day before, if not more so. Which meant he wasn’t going to be able to leave - or have to, to be more precise - anytime soon. He hurriedly tugged the curtains closed and turned away to rub the stars from his vision.

Jamie was grateful that the guest-room had an en suite as it not only saved him the worry of bumping into Mako in his search for a toilet, but meant he had very few steps to take to reach it; he had been repeatedly warned against sleeping in his prosthetics, but - since Jamie was so averse to wearing them in the first place - it had never been a problem before. Now he understood why his prosthetist’s warnings had been so adamant; the skin of his stumps felt raw within their casings, and while the arm wasn’t so bad, every step he took was agony.

As soon as he’d relieved himself, Jamie gave himself a look over in the mirrored cabinet. Things just seemed to be going from bad to worse; not only had he been rude enough to sleep all through the prior day and that morning, but now he looked like he’d spent a night on the streets rather than in the cosy bed he’d been provided. He sniffed his shirt with trepidation before all but headbutting the mirror in dismay. _Why_ hadn’t he thought to bring a change of clothes? And for _fuck’s sake_ why had he slept in them!? Rubbing furiously at the sore spot left on his brow, he took a deep breath and turned toward the shower unit.

He hadn’t had a shower since before the accident.

Fuck, he was going to kill himself getting in and out of it.

...Better that than go out to Mako stinking like roadkill though.

The room was filling with pleasantly billowing steam by the time Jamie had stripped and perched on the toilet lid to wrestle off his prosthetics. He might not have packed a change of clothes or any other basic amenities, but he _had_ brought along spare nylon sheaths, and the anti-inflammatory cream his prosthetist had prescribed him; he’d figured it best to in case Mako had needed to see the sheaths - heaven forbid he expose him to a used one - or if his work caused Jamie any discomfort. Not that either was a concern now. Jamie snorted derisively as he let his leg clatter on the bathroom tiles. Nothing so far had gone to plan… not one _fucking_ thing. Every step he’d made toward his goals had been quickly followed by two back, and any joy he’d felt over his small successes had been rapidly sucked back out.

Jamie began to peel the sheath from his thigh, hissing curses as the material clung to his skin and left deep, speckled indents behind. He ended up tearing the last few inches off like a bandaid, tossing it away to feather his fingers over the revealed flesh. He’d experienced far worse of course, but the familiarity of huddling over his stump amplified the pain to a gut-wrenching degree. He grimaced, but it wasn’t until he felt warm liquid splash against his tender skin that he realised he was even crying. A ragged sob of surprise tore from his throat, pathing the way for more until Jamie was fighting to breathe between them, hunched over with the heel of his hand jammed against his eyes and the sound of his own despair echoing off the bathroom tiles.

Ever since he’d woken up bandaged and bruised, to be informed by doctors in white coats of everything he’d lost in a fleeting moment he could barely remember, Jamie had clung to the idea that things would get better. Not in the healthy, optimistic way encouraged by his therapists, but through a kind of denial typified by the idea that he’d just… wake up, one day, to find that his life was enjoyable again. Not that he’d been delusional enough to think limbs would simply grow back overnight, but… He’d wanted a quick fix, and anything short of one felt like no progress at all.

Jamie had told himself that laying in his hospital bed day-in, day-out, caught between morphine-induced hazes and moments of agonizing clarity - that _that_ , would be the worst of it. Finally returning home would lift the veil of monotony which had befallen him and he’d be right-as-rain in no time. Yet once there, without a job to occupy him or force him into braving the outside world, he’d soon found himself going stir-crazy within the confines of his apartment.

By the time he was ready to be fitted with his prosthetics, Jamie held out little hope that they’d bring about the change he’d hinged everything on. The struggle he had adjusting to them only convinced him of how futile his situation was, and any patience he’d have had with them was smothered by his declining mental health. He’d been heading for a very dark place indeed when the email had come through about Roadhog - _Mako’s_ \- part in the charity auction, and his cheque had arrived...

Finally, after so long, _finally_ Jamie had spied a light at the end of the tunnel. He’d always been a skeptic, even through his rehabilitation - never once offering up even the smallest prayer, not even at his most vulnerable - yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the close timing of the auction and his payout _meant_ something. Then he’d had the idea to ask that Mako work on his leg and everything, after long last, had looked to be slotting into place.

Except now it was obvious that what Jamie had really been doing was pouring all of his time, money and energy into a pipe-dream; a one-sided fantasy he was naive - if not arrogant - to believe in. And for all of it, all the self-generated disappointment and hurt, he’d still woken up that morning craving nothing but Mako’s approval.

Jamie finally managed to suck in a lungful of steam and shuddered, the torrent of emotion which had fueled his tears flooding out of him all at once to leave him hollow and drained. He flopped back against the tank of the toilet, swallowing around the soreness in his throat and scrubbing weakly at his cheeks. When his eyes cracked open again he took in the view of the shower unit, pouring out steam, and for once... a shower didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

“Fuckin’... get over it, ya cunt. Don’t fuck this all up,” he whispered to himself, his voice coming out in a rough warble after the strain of sobbing. It seemed that pep-talks in bathrooms were becoming something of a theme this weekend.

Mustering strength he was barely sure he had, Jamie hauled himself up from the toilet and hopped over to the unit, not even bothering to test the temperature before he lowered himself haphazardly to the shower floor. He scooted until hot water pelted his hunched back, heat spreading outward across his shoulders and seeping into his very bones, the rhythm it drummed into his taught skin a strange but welcome comfort. After a while he tipped his head back, disturbing the blonde locks which had slicked to his brow as he opened his mouth and let it fill up to the point of overflowing. Once his mouth was rinsed and feeling fresher, he gulped the hot water down, letting it work its wonders on his raw throat and feeling, if not _better_ , at least more human.

When it finally came time to deal with his sore limbs, Jamie kept them out of the direct stream of the shower and rubbed small, gentle circles into his flesh; when the pain got too much he moved onto a different task for a while. He became almost dizzy when he popped the top off the shampoo, its strong, herbal scent going straight to his head. Washing his hair with one hand was a chore, but between the hot water easing his tensions and the association he couldn’t help but make between the shampoo’s scent and Mako, Jamie found the process more pleasant than it had ever been before - even prior to his accident.

Jamie used 3-in-1 at home, but even in the guest-room Mako stocked shampoo and conditioner; Jamie supposed it made sense, given the length and lustre of his hair. He even took the time to read the back of the bottle and noting the instructions, left the conditioner in while he washed everywhere else, using the extra time to massage the body wash into his stumps.

Eventually Jamie had sampled all the products the shower had to offer and it was time for him to face the task of getting up. It wouldn’t be elegant, but he would manage - he’d be damned if he’d let Mako find him knocked out from a fall and naked on the bathroom floor; that kind of humiliation was the last thing he bloody needed.

And so it was, after much cursing and maneuvering and effort, that Jamie collapsed onto the bed with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and steam wafting off his flushed skin. Despite everything leading up to it, the shower had left him feeling clean, soothed and clear-headed - a hundred percent better than the state he’d woken up in. He supposed the crying had something to do with it too, but even that felt distant now, like it had happened so long ago.

Jamie was so relaxed sprawled out like that on the cool bed, that he began to nod off - until a loud chime sounded from the bedside table, and he started awake to realise that his phone had charged enough to turn back on.

Rolling over, he snatched it up and unlocked it to a wave of messages from his friends. It seemed Lucio and Hana had used the server for the bulk of their chat today - perhaps in hopes that the notifications would somehow summon him faster. He scrolled through the messages, their familiar names - and the friendly concern they preceded - enough to finally bring a smile to his face.

1/2 the man i used to be: hi guys, how’s it hangin?  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: oh damn you’re alive!! see Lucio, told ya  
I only have bologna: Buddy!! Good to see you, you had us scared there for a minute.  
1/2 the man i used to be: well u kno, gotta keep you on your toes  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: so spill it already! what’s he like? Don’t leave me hanging again!!  
I only have bologna: Nvm that, he take your commission?  
  
Jamie sighed, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Typical Lucio, getting straight to the heart of the matter.  
  
1/2 the man i used to be: yes he is so fuckin hot  
1/2 the man i used to be: like unbelievably hot  
1/2 the man i used to be: practically creamed mself when i saw him  
I only have bologna: Jesus Christ Jamie  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: hahaha ewww yes!  
1/2 the man i used to be: but… no, he wont do it

Jamie stared at the dark discord window, reading his own words over. Well, there it was, spelled out plain as could be.

 I only have bologna: I’m really sorry Jamie. I know what that meant to you.  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: aw man, that really sucks  
1/2 the man i used to be: dont worry guys, im actually kinda over it. or in shock lol but ill be fine  
I only have bologna: What’s the plan then? You heading back home?  
1/2 the man i used to be: ohh&h no way the snow heres killer i cant even leave his house atm  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: you’re still there?? you stayed the night?? yes!!!  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: wait HOUSE?!  
1/2 the man i used to be: mmhm sis his workshops at his house ;)  
I only have bologna: Oh shit, you still gonna get something made?  
1/2 the man i used to be: course i am  
1/2 the man i used to be: didn’t come all the way here to leave wit nothing ;)  
I only have bologna: Hey that’s the Jamie I know!  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: fffffFFFFUCK YEAH  
◦°˚Bubblegum :b:itch˚°◦: GO GET HIM!!!  
I only have bologna: Missed ya buddy

Once he’d filled Lucio and Hana in to their satisfaction, Jamie realised not only how much time he’d taken to cleanse - both mentally and physically - but how bloody _starving_ he was. The churning in his belly worsened when he thought of heading out to meet Mako in search of food - but there was nothing for it. He’d just have to stomach his anxieties and get out there, lest he waste the entire day in the spare bedroom.

Still, there was no rushing when it came to the final step of his self-care. Jamie made sure he’d dried off sufficiently, then took his time massaging generous amounts of the anti-inflammatory cream into his stumps before rehousing them in the sockets of his prosthetics. He was relieved to find a toothbrush - still in its packaging no less - in the bathroom cabinet, and even more so to discover a bottle of cologne tucked in among the painkillers and toiletries. He might not have clean clothes to change into but between that and the shower, at least he wouldn’t go out smelling completely vile.

Jamie had been in such a funk when Mako had led him to the guest bedroom that he hadn’t taken in an inch of the house’s layout - but he was able to find his way back to the kitchen simply by following his nose, the rich aroma of coffee enticing him along.

When he reached the familiar, open-plan area, Jamie discovered that the pot of coffee was only part of what awaited him there. A breakfast spread had been laid out on the kitchen island: a small stack of croissants was accompanied by thick slices of cheese - there was a bunch of bananas resting inside a fruit bowl alongside grapefruit, apples and fragrant navel oranges - and an empty bowl awaited Jamie’s choice of two types of cereal. He passed up the options of healthy looking muesli mix and less-healthy chocolate dusted puffed rice for a croissant, deciding the carbs were just what he needed; when he opened the fridge to get the milk for his coffee, he found butter, jam, and a range of chutneys prominently displayed. He was briefly disappointed there was no ham to pair with the cheese, before remembering Mako’s explanation from the day before, and chuckling. Built like a brick shitter, but a vegetarian? Crazy.

And even crazier was that Mako had left a veritable feast out for him when the only thing Jamie felt worthy of was a large boot up his arse to send him packing. His first sip of mild, sweet coffee brought with it the memory of Mako’s subtle smile curling behind his tusks, when Jamie had commented on them the day before…

Ravenous, Jamie choked down two brie-and-chutney croissants and a banana before chugging the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste after the sweetness of the fruit. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. Fuck, Mako really was the full package; strong and rugged, talented beyond belief and now, it turned out, just plain fucking _nice_ too. And all wrapped up in a bow of _certifiably-out-of-Jamie’s-league_. Jamie groaned, then startled as the groan became a loud belch which reverberated around the open-plan room.

Scratch that. They weren’t even playing the same _game_.

But... if Jamie was going to spend this time with Mako, he might as well make the most of it by leaving a good impression on him - if that was even possible by this point. An idea to that effect dawned on him as he tugged on his coat and boots, and by the time Jamie stepped out into the deep snow there was a mug of steaming coffee in his hand and an eager grin spreading across his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks as always to my wonderful beta-reader Silly~~~ ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles) & [tumblr](http://sillyscrunchy.tumblr.com/)) <3
> 
> Sorry this one was short guys!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://one-irradiated-muppet.tumblr.com/) if you'd ever like to chat :3


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